Impulse
by thesizzleofsimabelle22
Summary: A baffling case becomes even more complicated as the CSI's try to decipher a murder, and find that all is not what it seems... no outright pairings, maybe subtle GSR,..my first fan fic! please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own of the characters, they belong to CBS and all of those other people...yada yada.

Authors Note: My first fan fic, so im still new to the whole thing...this story doesnt take place during any particular season, and pleas review!

Catherine Willows walked briskly into the morgue, the curt clicking of her heels on the linoleoum ringing around her in the empty hall. She walked past the silent bodies lined up outside the autopsy rooms, lying on their separate gurneys, waiting patiently for their turn to be processed and examined. Catherine sighed, running a quick hand through her blonde hair. Well, maybe those bodies had all the time in the world, but she definitely didn't. It had been a long shift, and she had a feeling it was about to get longer. With the amount of cases she had on her hands at the moment, she was going to have to pull another double. She thought of her daughter Lindsey, who she had only seen once in the past 48 hours. Sighing again, she pushed open the heavy doors to autopsy room #4, where her latest case was lying on the slab, fresh from the crime scene.

Catherine greeted the coroner, Doctor Al Robbins with a tight smile and a small nod. "So what do we have, Doc?" She asked, immediately businesslike. She had no time for chatting. Approaching the autopsy table, she surveyed the body. It was a young girl, no older than 18. A few years older than Lindsey, and the thought made Catherine's stomach clench. Raising a teenager in Las Vegas was no easy task. Especially after seeing cases like this every day, Catherine was sure the stress was going to kill her. Pushing these thoughts aside, she focused on the X-rays the doctor was holding up.

"Let's see…well, her liver temperature was 86.2, so that puts TOD at around 7 hours ago." He moved to pick up his scalpel. Catherine was still looking at the girl. She had been found in the shallow end of a small lake, and hadn't been ID'd yet, so no parents had been contacted. Catherine could already see the mother's broken, shell-shocked face as she realized her daughter was never coming home. She saw those grieving faces every day, but each time, fresh needles of pain and sympathy pricked her heart. Catherine ran a hand over the bruises on the girl's face. They felt hard and knobby under her fingers.

"And these?"

"Those were inflicted peri-mortem, and coupled with the defensive wounds on the palms of her hands, it shows definite struggle. She went down fighting."

Catherine nodded silently, and her eyes traveled lower, to the victim's legs. Or rather, leg.

When the girl had been found, she was floating face down, minus her right leg. Nick had looked for the severed limb, but his wading and searching through mud and weeds had proved futile. The wound on the body was ugly and gaping, revealing the shining white of the pelvic bone. The laceration wasn't clean, with flaps of flesh hanging around the hole, but whatever had done it had to have been strong, to cut through the bone in one sweep like that. The missing limb gave the whole body a grotesque, disproportionate appearance. Catherine shuddered. Poor girl.

The coroner let his tools clatter to the table. "COD was blunt force trauma to the back of the skull, causing a fracture of the occipital bone and massive hemorrhage on the brain. The object that did this must have been pretty hefty, just look at the impression it left." Catherine looked to where the doctor was pointing.

"Yeah, I see it. Nasty."

" Uh-huh. But even if she hadn't been clubbed, she would have died," Doctor Robbins continued. "Her C1 vertebrae was crushed. Completely."

Catherine couldn't hide her surprise. "Wow, hangman's fracture. That would've taken a lot of force…could it have been from the blow that killed her?"

The coroner frowned, his bushy white eyebrows dipping down toward his nose. "No, the trajectories of both wounds say otherwise. The spine was injured prior to the head trauma. Normally, this kind of a spinal fracture can be seen after a body is hanged, but there are no abrasions around the neck, so we have to rule that out. It probably resulted from something forcefully colliding with her chest or neck- maybe an airbag in a car accident."

Now it was Catherine's turn to frown. "A car accident? But there are no signs of accident-related trauma on her, and we didn't find a car anywhere near the crime scene!"

The doctor shrugged. "Hey, I've done my job, now it's your turn. I'm just telling you what I see." Catherine chuckled.

"Tell me about the leg... I mean, the lack of one ."

"Well," Doc Robbins began, crossing the room to pick up a circular metal ruler. The harsh fluorescent lights glinted coldly off the instrument. "I can't tell you much until you find me the actual limb. But judging by the shape of the wound, and the jaggedness of the cut, her leg was sawed off. And since there seems to have been no vital response from the tissue, it was cut off post- mortem.

Catherine rubbed her forehead with a dainty hand. "Well, at least that's good."

"Why?" the coroner placed the ruler on his table, glancing questioningly at Catherine.

"Would you want to be alive when someone was cutting your leg off?" She exited the morgue, leaving the doctor to smile to himself and wheel in the next body.

*********************************************************************************

He watched its muscular legs tentatively explore the palm of his hand, beaming at the tickle of it lazily creeping up his arm. A sudden knock on the door to his office startled him, and he looked up sharply.

His assistant supervisor and good friend, Catherine Willows, stood in the doorway, arms crossed and an annoyed expression spreading across her pretty face. He couldn't help a small grin.

"What can I do for you, Cath?"

"Put your hairy spider away, Bug-man. I got a puzzle for you."

"Well, I've always loved a good puzzle. And for the record, it's an African red-kneed tarantula, and it's insulted that you think of it as a 'hairy spider'." Dr. Gil Grissom lowered his pet into its tank, never taking his eyes off of it.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Whatever. 'Hairy spider' is better than Greg's nickname for it, anyway. Listen, have you seen the evidence and case files for my floater? They're not in the right slot."

Grissom glanced at her, raising his eyebrow. "No, but maybe Nick and Sarah have, since they are working the case with you. Don't leave them out, Catherine." The assistant supervisor just shrugged under her boss's stern gaze. "Now, what was that puzzle you mentioned?"

"It's about my floater. Doc Robbins confirmed that the COD was blunt force trauma, but he also found an unrelated spinal injury. He thinks it was caused by an airbag being deployed in a car accident. But where I get lost is how this girl got from a car wreck to swimming in a lake face first. Without a leg."

Grissom folded his hands slowly, studying the young woman, his crystal blue eyes intent on her face.

"There's no possibility that the leg was severed during the car accident?"

"No, it was chopped off after the girl had died. And the neck injury didn't kill her. It just doesn't make sense."

Grissom raised his eyebrow at her again, blue eyes peering gravely at her from over his wire glasses. "Murder never makes sense, Catherine."

Catherine threw up her hands , eyes widening in exasperation. "Yeah, well, if someone wanted her dead, they could have just left her in the car, let her die from the broken vertebrae. What kind of a killer drags an already fatally wounded woman to a lake, conks her on the head, chops of her _leg _and_ takes_ it, for God's sake, and then dumps her in plain sight!?"

Grissom stood suddenly, and walked toward the door, guiding Catherine out along with him. "Let's find out."

*****************************************************************************


	2. Chapter 2

**ok....i had some extra time so the 2nd chapter is up sooner than expected...big thanks to all of the people who reviewed, :) and i hope u enjoy this next part!!! (sorry its kinda short)  
**

Greg blinked, then blinked again, but still couldn't chase away the fatigue that was settling over him. The only thing that really kept him awake was the promise of another cup of coffee after he finished the truckload of skin samples he still had to process. He really needed more caffeine in his system, even though he had already had five full mugs in the past 2 ½ hours. It wasn't healthy, but he would have passed out long ago without it. You did what you had to do.  
Greg let out a long breath, and slid the next sample under the microscope, just as Nick Stokes and Sarah Sidle walked in. They didn't look any better than he felt. Nick strode over, with Sarah hanging back wearily. Greg looked blankly down at the plastic baggie of samples that Nick thrust at him.

"What is this?"

" Blue fibers. From our floater. Need a match. Now."

Normally, Greg wouldn't have argued, not with Nick clearly in a don't-mess-with-me–or–I'll-flatten-you mood, but his lowered caffeine levels led him to do otherwise. "You and everybody else in this God-forsaken lab." He gestured at the pile of bagged and sealed samples lying in front of him. "I'm totally backed up, man, and I gotta do all of these fir-" But he was cut short by the searing glare he received from the CSI. Mumbling to himself, Greg slid the fibers under the microscope, leaning in for a look. Nick leaned in as well, obviously regretting his abrupt address of the young technician.

"Got anything, Einstein?"

Nick obviously felt bad about his behavior a few seconds ago, but Greg wasn't about to forgive the guy that easily.

"Do you think Einstein had people hovering over his shoulders every minute of his life? And if he had, do you think we would all be walking around with E-mc2 T-shirts now?"

Nick mumbled his apology, chuckling quietly, and backed away to give the lab tech some breathing room.

"Hey, you guys wanna clue me in?"

Nick turned around surprised, as Sarah walked over to join them. He had totally forgotten she was in the DNA lab with them. "Well Mr. Einstein got a little touchy-feely about his personal space, but he hasn't told us what the blue fibers were from." Sara didn't even have the energy to smile, so she just closed her eyes and nodded. The entire crime lab was short-handed, and she and Nick had had to pull a triple. 4 ½ hours ago she had officially gone 24 hours without sleeping.

"Okaayyy," Greg let his head flop back heavily away from the microscope. " Your fibers are from a blue carpet. Synthetic, and close cropped. Maybe one of those wall-to-wall shag deals."

Nick nodded thoughtfully. It was a good start. Now they needed to go find Catherine, and catch her up. And then get out of here, because pulling triple shifts was not his idea of a good workday. Then again, it was hard to have a good workday when you dealt with crime and death every day.

"Thanks, Greggo, you're the man." Nick patted the young lab technician on the back, still feeling a little bad about his initial behavior.

"Yeah, yeah, as if I didn't know it. But I need some coffee pronto, so move along."

Nick shook his head as Greg made a beeline for the door. "Sorry, but I think Brass just drank the last of it. But Grissom probably has some of that Mongolian mud tea in his office. Not that I'm advising you to drink it."

Greg stopped dead in his tracks, one foot still poised to step out into the hall. Groaning loudly, he turned around and marched back to his table, covering his face with his hands. Sweet Mary, it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Detective Jim Brass, LVPD, Homicide Division, was examining the irradiated fetal pig that stood in a glass jar on one of the higher shelves. Gil Grissom was watching with his usual distracted, yet sharp gaze as his colleague squinted at the jar, then snorted with amusement and disgust.

"Did you know that pigs are very intelligent animals? In fact, they're right behind chimps, dolphins, and elephants." Grissom smiled as the detective turned to look at him in bewilderment.

"Really...ahead of dogs?"

"And certain politicians."

Jim Brass laughed again, his face crinkling good-naturedly. "Yeah, I was about to comment on your…office decorations." He swept his arm in wide arc to include the pig, Grissom's prized two-headed scorpion carcass, and all the other eccentric items lining the shelves. Then he shook his head, turning his mindset back to the business at hand.

"How's your team doing? I know they put it in a lot of overtime. It's been a rough night."

Grissom exhaled heavily. "Aren't they all? And actually I was about go find Catherine, Nick and Sarah and tell them to go home, leave their cases for the day shift to handle. They need rest."

"Yeah," Brass agreed "We all do."

The thoughtful silence that followed was disrupted by the tinny ringing of Grissom's cell phone. He flipped it open promptly, bringing it to his ear. "Grissom" he answered, and then cocked his head to listen.

Detective Brass watched as the investigator frowned and nodded, ending the call with a "be right there". Grissom closed his cell phone slowly, slipping it into his pocket and looking up at Brass.

"A package just arrived for me at the main desk. The receptionist said it smelled funny."

The detective cast his friend a skeptical, sideways glance. "Well, that's never good."

But Grissom was already on his way out of the office, leaving Brass to simply sigh and follow him out.


	3. Chapter 3

**once again, thanks to all who reviewed! and sorry for the shortness of this one..it might take some time for me to update since im suffering from a good dose of writers block.. also if anyones wondering where warrick is, lets just say he's on vacation (im too lazy to incorporate him into the story, sorry)..and BTW i might change the name of this piece, since its going in a totally different direction than expected..il make sure to mention the new name before i change it...so please enjoy and review!!**

* * *

Catherine was angry. No, she was furious. She couldn't find the case and evidence files, so she couldn't send the powder that had been found in the girls mouth to the DNA and Trace lab, and now, to top it all off, she couldn't find Nick and Sara. Grissom had berated her for leaving the rest of her teammates out, but how was she supposed to keep them in when she could never find them? She swerved sharply into the DNA lab.

"Greg. Have you seen Nick and Sa- what on earth are you doing?" She watched with confused interest as the lab tech ripped open another packet of sugar and poured it into his mouth. A dozen similar, empty packets littered the table in front of him. Greg smacked his lips a few times, and turned to face the blonde woman.

"Well, we're out of coffee, and I was coming close to slipping into a coma at one point, so I'm using sugar as a substitute for caffeine. It's working too…I'm not seeing three of everything anymore." He grinned at her baffled and slightly disapproving expression.

Catherine shook her head. "…anyway, have you seen Nick or Sara? They went invisible on me."

Greg tapped his foot as he shook his head. "Sorry, Cath, not since, like, a half- hour ago. No idea where they could have gone…hey, maybe I'll turn some music on."

"Oh no, forget it. I'm way too tired to deal with your ear-destroying Marilyn Manson, and I'm pretty sure everyone else in this building will back me up."

Greg rolled his eyes, spinning his chair around. The sugary energy was taking its toll. "Well, you're no fun, Cath…" he sighed. Catherine arched her eyebrows at the technician. "I shouldn't be. Don't you have samples to run?"

Greg was just beginning to grumble a reply, when Detective Brass burst into the room, interrupting him.

"Catherine…you need to see something. Now."

* * *

When they got to the lay-out room, the first thing the Catherine saw were the familiar shapes of Nick and Sara standing next to Grissom, all leaning over something on the evidence table. _Man, are they gonna get a mouthful from me_, Catherine thought angrily. But her anger dissipated when she entered the room and a smell hit her, slamming into her like a solid wall. It was putrid and horrifying, the smell of something wet and rotten and dead. Catherine forced back a gag, and hurried over to the huddled group, the shocked and disgusted faces of her colleagues only adding to her mounting dread. She peered into the cardboard box on the table, and for a moment didn't register what she saw. "What-" was all the experienced CSI managed to say before the realization dawned on her, and she gasped.

Inside the rectangular cardboard box, one pale object took up the cramped space. The leg was now a grayish color, the raw red of where it had been severed contrasting sharply with the shriveled skin. It was definitely feminine, neatly manicured toes saying it all. And Catherine was positive that she knew who this leg had belonged to. It made her sick, just looking into that box, but it held her eyes with a magnetic force, with that god-awful smell overwhelming her. Grissom startled them all when he reached carefully into the box, extracting a small slip of paper that apparently only he had noticed. They all watched as his eyes scanned the message, struggling to understand the expressions flitting across his face. Then he read the note aloud, voice steady but tense.

"You get what you deserve."


	4. Chapter 4

**Ok here's the next chapter! (i finally managed to chip away that stupid wall of writer's block)..its defintely not my favorite chapter, partly due to the fact that i had such a hard time coming up with it, so please forgive...and btw, starting with the next chapter, im changing the name of this fanfic to "Impulse", so just be on the lookout! Enjoy!**

Sara snapped on her latex gloves, and slid her sunglasses up to perch in her hair. The brightness of the day momentarily stunned her, and she had to blink a couple of times before she could think coherently. Picking up her kit, she slammed the door of the Denali shut, and started to make her way over to where Catherine and Nick were standing at the water's edge.

They had been sent back to the crime scene, to look for anything that would push the case from the standstill it had come to. She and Grissom had examined the severed leg and the box it had been contained in meticulously, but their efforts had proved fruitless. The note that Grissom had found had also been a dead end, with no fingerprints, no traceable printer, ink or paper. All they had at the moment was an unidentified dead girl, her leg, and blue carpet fibers. It was beyond frustrating.

Her rubber boots squelched as they sank into the wet mud that coated the ground near the lake, and Sara shivered in the early autumn chill, feeling the tug in her shoulder muscle as it bore the heavy weight of her kit. She approached Nick, who was now rifling through his equipment, eyebrows knit in concentration as he searched. In the distance, Sara could see Catherine already examining the tall grasses that grew in abundance on the dunes. She took a quick look around herself, scanning the land for a good place to start.

"I guess I'll, uh, take the area by that oak, okay?"

Nick looked up, squinting against the glare of sunlight. "Yeah, that's a good idea…Catherine's doing the shore, and the dunes, and I-" He paused as he pulled out what he had been searching for, a crumpled, waterproof pair of plastic overalls. "- I'm gonna wade in, search the weeds, see if the current didn't carry anything into them." He unfolded the protective pants, casting Sara a miserable sideways glance. Laughing, the young CSI turned to trek to her self-assigned area.

"Have fun!" she called over her shoulder.

* * *

The three CSIs worked the lakeshore for the entire morning and well into the afternoon, and the November sun had long fallen from its peak when the exhausted team wearily and unanimously decided on a short break, to compare results. Catherine's search had turned up a few empty soda cans, candy wrappers and cigarette butts, all of it the usual post-picnic garbage and litter. And the results of Nick's tiring inspection of the water weeds were limited to a soaked shirt and an aching back. Sara had found nothing at all. The dejected, bone-tired group sat in the shade of some large pines, resting as they leaned their backs against the tree trunks.

After they had confirmed that the entire expedition had been a one grand waste of time, Catherine broke the disappointed silence.

"Okay, let's just do one more, quick, scan of the entire perimeter, and then we'll pack up and head back to the lab. We did our best."

The other two CSIs nodded silently, unable to dispel the feeling of failure. Rising to their feet slowly, they headed back in the direction of the lakeshore, for one last spread out again, eyes desperately darting in all directions, hoping for the tiniest hint of _anything_, other than numerous picnics and pollution. Catherine sank to her knees without hesitation when she reached the dunes, despite the ominous possibility of ruining a new pair of pants. She was sifting the loose sand through her fingers when suddenly, Sara's excited voice reached her ears.

"Hey, guys! I think I got something! Over here, by the oak!"

In one fluid movement, Catherine was on her feet and rushing towards her colleague. The grace she had attained in her earliest career as a dancer was still evident in her run, long legs pumping and blonde curls bouncing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nick jogging toward where Sara stood, shirt stained with spots of mud. They arrived together, chests heaving slightly, both very curious as to what the young woman had discovered that was so exciting. They understood as soon as they saw the dark drops on the grooved bark of the oak. Sara wordlessly held up a pink-colored swab, a small, grim and triumphant smile spreading across her face.

"We have blood."

Catherine couldn't resist a smile as well; all of their hard work had paid off. She leaned in to study the blood drops on the tree. "It's a V pattern, and the direction of the drops is…upwards. It looks like cast-off. You took some pictures Sara?"

Sara frowned at her superior, lips pursed in light dismay. "Give me some credit, Cath." The blonde inclined her head in apology, chagrined.

Nick stared at the stains on the tree, his soft, brown eyes thoughtful as his mind churned. "The victim was about my height, right? If she was sitting…" He crouched down, looking upwards at the blood stain on the tree. "…then the spatter would be above her head then, too high for a drip. Plus, she had no openly bleeding head wounds. So if she was standing…it would be around her hip area."

Sara crossed her arms. "Well, her hip probably was bleeding profusely, since her leg was chopped off, so it-"

Catherine cut her off, shaking her head as she remembered something. "No, Doc said the leg was removed post-mortem."

"Well, thanks for mentioning it before, then."

The blonde women sighed, casting her friends an apologetic glance. "Slipped my mind, with all that was going on…but even if it was from that wound, wouldn't there be more blood?"

Nick turned to face the tree again. "I don't recall any cuts or such there either, but we'll have to ask Doc…you're sure it's cast-off Catherine?"

Catherine shook her head, and impatiently pushed her bangs away as she leaned forward to look at the tree again. "No, I can't be sure, not here…we're gonna need to get this tree back to the lab." She looked up for a moment, taking in the oak's enormity and majestic beauty, it's massive limbs splitting from the stolid trunk to weave across the clouded sky. The tree's top was too far up in its tangle of branches to be seen. "Well, at least part of it."

"Okay, I'll call Brass, and get someone down here to chop it…" Sara said, already digging through her jacket for her phone.

Nick circled the oak, his sharp gaze taking in every ridge and crack of the bark, but not seeing anything to suggest a struggle, or a murder. Then a bit of color among the brown jumped out at him, a dot of blue caught on a twig. Crouching down for a closer look, he felt a grin forming on his lips. Jackpot.

"Hey, Catherine, look what I got over here."

Catherine looked up to see Nick approaching her, tweezers held delicately in the hand he was extending towards her. In between the metal clasp of the forceps, a tiny shred of fabric fluttered.

"Found it snagged on a little branch near the bottom of the trunk, probably ripped off. I can't tell much, but I do know it's blue and…"

"…Our vic was wearing a white blouse." Catherine finished his sentence for him in a quiet voice, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully. "Then it must be our killer's. Good, bag it, we'll send it to Hodges. Nice work, Nicky."

Catherine turned around when she heard the dull snap of Sara closing her phone. "Both of you, nice job today. We have blood evidence and a piece of the murderer's clothes. "

Sara nodded gravely, determination flaring up in her eyes. "Now we're talking."


	5. Chapter 5

**hi everyone, sorry for the long(er) wait this time...too much stupid school stuff...well, i dont have much to say this time, so please read, review, and enjoy!**

The cold blue glow of sharp fluorescent lights enveloped the Trace Analysis lab, and even the shadows that lurked in the corners of the room were tinted a dark teal. The lab was empty, except for one David Hodges, a shorter-than-normal, graying middle-aged man with cunning eyes, an eternal smirk and noticeable air of arrogance. Hodges was bent over a microscope, forehead creased in concentration, back stiff, hands nimbly tuning various dials on the instrument as he studied a sample of cloth. Content in the comfortable silence of his lab, he was so immersed by his work that the sound of quick footsteps approaching from the hall went unnoticed.

"How's my sample, Hodges?"

Startled, Hodges jumped away from the microscope as if he had been scorched by it; a surprised and quite undignified squawk escaped him as his cheek caught the edge of the microscope. He stumbled against the row of cabinets, flinching as his elbow connected solidly with the wood. For a moment he stood frozen, leaning against the cabinets in the sprawled position he had fallen into; then, in one fluid, sudden movement, he coolly straightened up, and turned swiftly to face the intruder.

Nick Stokes leaned comfortably against the door frame, muscled arms crossed languidly across his chest.

Rubbing the new welt on under his eye, Hodges directed his most annoyed and disdainful glare at the CSI still waiting in the doorway before he spoke.

"You CSI's could learn to knock."

Nick shook his head, trying hard to suppress the laughter that was threatening to burst out unbidden. "Yeah, we probably could, man. Sorry about that." He looked carefully at the tech, observing the angry swell forming on his cheek.

"You okay?" Nick questioned, genuine concern in his voice. He hadn't meant to scare the guy, and he didn't want anyone getting injured because of him. But all he got in return for his consideration was a icy sniff of indignation. The smile that had been playing around his lips stretched into bright grin, and a few snorts of laughter escaped his control. "But I gotta tell you, the look on your face…" At these last words, Nick lost any last shred of control he had over himself, and he began to laugh heartily, throwing his head back.

Hodges was less amused; rolling his eyes, he began to shuffle some loose papers around, irritated and still embarrassed at having been caught off-guard. Planting his hands on his hips as he continued to scowl at the CSI, the tech looked comically like a peeved matron, ready to scold.

"Are you done yet?"

Nick rubbed his forehead, his smile dwindling to its normal friendliness. He cast Hodges a look that was sincerely apologetic.

"Sorry, man, I've just had a rough day, and well, you were my comic relief."

But Hodges just gave him another haughty glower before turning to the manila folder containing the analysis results of Nick's cloth sample.

"Well, the sample of fabric you gave me is common polyethylene terephthalate, regular polyester. It was dyed with standard acid-based gray dye, and the weave is tight, with no through-and-out layer."

Nick nodded solemnly, absorbing this information. "So, some kind of uniform?"

Hodges smiled, a cocky half-smile that usually annoyed its viewers to no end. "A mailman's uniform to be exact. I tested the dye separately, and it came up as a specific mix used for mailman uniforms issued in this county ."

Nick smiled broadly again, dimples appearing. He nodded at the lab tech in appreciation, calling a quick "Thanks!" over his shoulder, as he hurried out of the Trace lab to find his colleagues.

* * *

Detective Jim Brass smiled to himself as he leaned back against the comfortable, sturdy leather of his chair, letting his head roll back against the head rest. He winced as the weary joints in his neck cracked in protest, and then breathed a sigh of relief as the stiffness, inevitably caused by stress and long hours, was released in smooth, loosening waves. Brass allowed his body to fully relax for the first time in two days, even letting his weighted eyelids drop without hesitation.

He had just made the call to the U.S. Post Office of Clark County, and with ease had been able to identify and locate the mailman that worked the route closest to the crime scene. As the detective sat there in his office, the mailman, one Bruce Colbin, was being arrested on charges of first-degree murder.

He opened his eyes slowly, momentarily staring up at the nondescript ceiling. A small crack in the plaster stood out against the pristine white paint, and the detective absentmindedly traced it with his eyes as his mind wandered. He suddenly blinked rapidly, snapping himself out of his reverie. Brass heaved himself out of the chair with a grunt, carefully straightening his jacket and crumpled tie. He looked at his watch, and impatience flickered in his dark eyes, his bushy eyebrows dipping in disapproval. At that moment, the loud, anxious ring of the detective's cellphone invaded the peace of the office, and Brass answered it with a sullen mutter.

"Brass."

He listened intently, but the impassive look of blankness that clouded his open, friendly face never wavered.

"Good. I'll be right there, just need to get some CSI's. They'll want DNA, after all. Don't take your eyes off of him, DeLancey."

With that last gruffly-spoken set of instructions, Brass ended the call with the closing snap of his phone. There was no time for formalities; he wasn't getting paid for properly ending phone conversations. Leaving the room, he looked back once more at the inviting comfort of the chair, the corners of the his mouth creasing wearily downwards. The moment of calm was gone, and he had things to do, places to go, and people to see, specifically one mailman by the name of Bruce.


End file.
